


You Were In Screaming Color

by multifandomtakeover



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bullying, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Georgie Denbrough is Missing, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, bill is medically colorblind, mike and bill play football
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-06-13 15:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15367650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multifandomtakeover/pseuds/multifandomtakeover
Summary: Stan Uris has waited pretty much his whole life to meet his soulmate. But when he finally does, it doesn't happen exactly the way he expects it to.-or-The stenbrough soulmate!au where you can only see colors when you and your soulmate have skin-on-skin contact.





	1. Stan Uris Is Not Exceptionally Excited

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, hello, welcome. I'm very excited you've decided to give my story a shot. If you read this already, it's in the process of being edited and not exactly the same as what was on my tumblr (though I'm also updating the original posts as I edit). If you came here from tumblr, thank you! Please enjoy this story, regardless of where you found it. Thanks again!
> 
> -B

Stan Uris is not exceptionally excited about starting his junior year of high school, but he has to. Because this year is the most important to his future. He’d be applying to colleges, taking his SATs and ACTs, and generally praying that he met his soulmate like he did every other waking and sleeping moment of his life. He sighs as he clasps the buttons on his shirt in the mirror and rolls the sleeves. All he sees are different shades of black, white, and gray. He adjusts his yarmulke, grabs his backpack, and descends the stairs.

At the breakfast table, his father sits reading the morning newspaper and sipping from his coffee mug. His mother walks in holding a plate of eggs and smiles at him.

“Are you ready for your first day of school, Stanley?” she asks, taking a seat across from him and passing a steaming mug his way.

Stan blows on the rim and carefully sips the tea with minimal sugar and shrugs. “I suppose. It’s nothing too new.” He looks up at his parents who are both staring at him, hands clasped on the table. He recognizes this look: they’re studying him. “What color am I?”

This has become a routine of theirs. Ever since Richie, Stan’s best friend, found his soulmate, Stan has been obsessed with finding his own soulmate. Richie told him every time he held Eddie’s hand or hugged him or even touched his skin with his, the world was full of rich, amazing color. Stan began to notice his parents held hands wherever they could and started to ask what he looked like. Of course, he knew what his face looked like and what his clothes looked like, but he wanted to know what he _looked_ like. To people that were in love.

“Your hair is light brown,” his mother begins, a smile lighting her face. “And your eyes are hazel.”

“What’s that?” Stan asks, leaning in over his plate, fully absorbed in what his parents were telling him. And even though he had heard the answer to his question before, he still listened attentively for the fondness his parents always replied with.

“It’s like a mixture of all the eye colors: brown and blue and green,” his father says, amusement at his son etched over his features.

“And my shirt?” Stan absently runs a hand down the front of his top, grazing the buttons with the tips of his fingers.

“Blue, Stanley. Blue like the sky that’s filled with the birds you like so much,” his mother replies. Stan, satisfied with all the answers that he was received, sits back and begins to eat his breakfast.

Stan is obsessed with colors and finding out what they might look like when he can finally see them. He knows the eggs that tasted so light and fluffy in his mouth were “yellow” and that it is a fairly bright color from the intense shade of gray he sees. He looks around the dining room as he eats, noticing the rich shades of gray and black that cover the table, looking at the near white color of the coffee in his mother’s mug, the multiple shades of gray and white of the curtains that shade the morning light coming in from outside, and the dark shade of the tea in his own mug.

Once he finishes, he puts his plate and mug in the dishwasher, kisses his parents good-bye, grabs his backpack, and begins the short walk to Richie’s house a few streets over. On his way there, he makes note of the birds chirping and the bike riders gliding past him. Being outdoors always puts him in a good mood and this morning is no different, despite the thoughts that had plagued him as he got ready for school. When he finally reaches the Toziers’ house, he knocks on the door sharply and Mrs. Tozier answers.

“Hello, Stan! How are you? Come on in. Richie will be down in a minute.” Stan steps inside the door and closes it behind him.

“I’m good, Mrs. Tozier,” Stan says as she picks up a plate from the kitchen counter and resumes washing it. “How about you?”

She doesn't look up from her washing, but gives him a long-suffering sigh. “How many times do I have to tell you? Call me Maggie! Mrs. Tozier makes me feel like an old woman.” She shoots a playful grin over her shoulder making the laugh lines around her eyes and mouth even more pronounced.

Stan smiles timidly. “Sorry Mrs. To- I mean Maggie.”

Just then, Richie bounds down the steps, hair in its usual tousled mess, backpack slung over one shoulder, and car keys in hand. “Hey, Stanny boy, you ready to go?” Stan simply nods. “Let’s get a move on then. Don’t want to be late on the first day. Bye, ma!”

“Ah, ah, ah, aren’t you forgetting something?” Mrs. Tozier turns from the sink, arms akimbo.

Richie rolls his eyes and slumps down dramatically. “Mo-om.” He drags out the one-syllable word endlessly.

“Richard Tozier!” his mother snaps, and her foot begins to tap so Richie and Stan know she means business. Stan has trouble stifling the snort that comes out.

Richie rolls his eyes again, this time at his best friend, and steps towards his mother before planting the smallest of kisses on her cheek. “Geez,” he says, “you sound like Mrs. Kaspbrak.” His face reads mild irritation, but he says his soulmate’s last name with tenderness. Stan feels a sting of jealousy go through him, but he pushes it away as quickly as it came on; being mad at Richie’s good fortune won’t help his situation.

“Let’s go,” Stan says. “Bye, Mrs. Tozier.” She gives him a pointed look and he smacks the heel of his hand onto his forehead dramatically to get her to laugh. “Maggie. I’ll get it one of these days.”

She does laugh at him and says, “Go on, get out of here. Have a good first day!” Richie slams the door behind him before pointing the fob in his hand at the car and unlocking it. Stan opens the trunk and unceremoniously dumps his backpack full of notebooks and pencils in before climbing into the passenger seat. Richie does the same, then comes to the driver’s seat and starts the car. The ride is mostly devoid of noise, save for Richie singing along quietly with the Buddy Holly song that floats through the speakers.

“Do you listen to anything from this century?” Stan asks his best friend jokingly.

“Everything from this century is garbage,” he replies almost immediately. He points a long, spindly finger at the radio. “Especially in comparison to the classics: Buddy Holly, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the Clash, Stevie Wonder. Those are the names worth listening to.”

“Right,” Stan says sarcastically with an eye roll and a head shake. They both chuckle and fall silent for the rest of the ride. Once they arrive, they grab their bags and head to the office where homerooms are listed. This is where they meet up with Eddie Kaspbrak.

“Hello, ladies,” he says with a smirk.

“Hi-yuh, sugar,” Richie replies flirtatiously in his southern belle Voice and planting a sweet kiss on his forehead. When they interlace fingers, Stan sees a sharp clarity come over their eyes and looks away, feeling like an intruder on some private moment. His eyes fall on the class rosters and he scans for his last name, noticing that he is one homeroom away from Richie and that Eddie and their friends Mike and Ben will be in the same homeroom.

“Let’s go find our lockers,” Stan suggests, if only so he can lead their small group and not have to look at Richie and Eddie practically salivating over each other. He essentially runs out of the office and almost smacks into Bev Marsh, causing the two of them to stumble. Stan puts a steadying hand on her arm to save her from falling.

“Hey, Uris,” she says with a smile. “Did you happen to see which homeroom I’m in?”

Stan begins to open his mouth, but Richie butts in, “If it isn’t our own personal Molly Ringwald.”

“What is it with your references from the 1960s today, trashmouth?” Stan can't help but remark.

“And what movie do you know her from?” Eddie interjects. “Sixteen Candles, Breakfast Club, or Pretty in Pink?”

“All of the above, of course,” Richie says easily and Stan finds himself rolling his eyes once again.

“Nice to see you, Trashmouth, Eddie,” Bev says with an amused smile. Then she turns to Stan, “Will you wait for me? I just gotta check my homeroom.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says to her. Then to the boys: “You guys can go on ahead. I’ll be right there.”

Richie raises his eyebrow in question, but Eddie practically drags his soulmate away saying, “Okay. See you soon.”

Then, he and Bev step back into the office. “I saw you had your _I’d-rather-be-anywhere-else-than-here_ look from across the hall and came to the rescue,” she says as she flips through the roster sheets. She finds her name and turns to Stan, linking her left arm through his right. “I know you don’t like being alone with them together for too long.”

“Thanks, Bevvie,” he says gratefully. They climb the stairs to the third floor where the Junior homerooms and lockers are, talking about summer vacation, their summer assignments, and all the fun things they did. By then, the halls were practically filled with loud, semi-energetic teenagers and Stan can’t help but notice all the people touching each other, both obviously and inconspicuously, to see the world in full color. The bell rings and the two friends split to go to their homerooms. Stan enters Mr. Westinghouse’s room and sits quietly, not having any close friends in here. He listens during the announcements and receives his schedule. Then the bell rings again to signal the students moving to their first period classes.

He meets up with Richie outside and says, “Let me see your schedule.” They switch papers to study each others’ schedules.

“We have calc, lunch, Spanish, and history together,” Richie says, having scanned Stan’s schedule.

“Lucky,” Stan replies, having looked at Richie’s last period. “You’ve got a free period last. I have physics.”

“Haha!” Richie says, poking Stan in the shoulder. He retaliates kiddingly and hits his best friend in the bicep. “See you in math, Stan the Man.” They go their separate ways for their first period classes, psychology for Stan and computer programming for Richie.

The morning is boring even though he has study hall second period with Bev and Mike and English third with Ben. After that, P.E. makes Stan unnecessarily sweaty and irritable. Then, onto his favorite class with Richie. Stan can see the teacher regrets having the two best friends in his math class almost immediately, but chooses to ignore it as long as they finish their work. The rest of the afternoon goes on with little work since it is only the first day. The most eventful thing to happen was the new student who Stan only saw in physics.

Stan perches on a lab stool next to a girl from calc. She smiles and waves and Stan nods a little in response. When the bell rings to signal the start of last period, the professor, Dr. Luca looks up and says, “You look a little too comfortable.” It was goodnatured and a smile lines her lips, but half the class groans. “Now, now don’t be like that. Everyone in the right seat, stay where you are. People in the left seat, move up two tables.” Stan stays seated as the girl, Natalie, stands and takes her stuff two tables up. A boy that Stan had never seen before in his life takes Natalie’s original seat.

His hair is the same shiny shade of gray that the pennies in his wallet are. And his eyes, _God, his eyes_ , are crystalline gray like the color of the ocean when he went to the beach last year. The boy smiles at Stan, and luckily Stan is sitting or his knees would have given out. He smiles dopily back and hopes he doesn’t look like too much of an idiot.

“Introduce yourselves to your lab partners because this is where you’ll be for the rest of the year,” Dr. Luca says.

Stan turns back to face the gorgeous mystery boy, sticks his hand out, and says, “Hi, I’m Stan Uris.”

The boy shakes his hand firmly and lets go abruptly. The sentiment that his father always told him, _a firm handshake is the sign of a good man_ , echoes in the back of Stan’s mind. “I’m B-B-Bill Den-br-brough.” Stan barely registers that the boy- Bill- speaks at all or that he stutters because he thought... _no that can’t be_.

He thought that in the brief moment that Bill’s hand had been in his he saw color.

But it happened so quickly, Stan couldn’t be sure. He tries during the rest of class to touch Bill’s hand, scoots closer in an attempt to bump their knees together under the table, “accidentally” brush fingers handing out a paper, but no such luck. They chat idly about where they’re from (Bill is from Augusta), their likes (he really likes playing football and writing), and their dislikes (people who don’t know how to use the correct forms “their”). The two seem to get on well.

“Can I ask you something?” Stan says, curiosity getting the best of him. “Why did you come here? You lived in Augusta, so why little Derry?”

Bill’s jaw clenches tightly and a vein in his neck jumps out. “I-I came he-ere be-c-c-cause m-my bro-huther we-hent m-m-missing la-ast ye-year and th-the po-holice k-k-kind of- w-well the-hey g-ga-have up on-on it. It's a-a co-hold case n-n-now."

Stan’s eyes widen and he covers his mouth with his hand. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.”

“N-ho, it’s o-okay, St-St-Stan. My f-f-family thought it wo-ood be good to l-l-leave a-hall that be-hi-hi-hind. Pl-plus my cu-husin li-lives h-ere and sh-she was go-hoing to c-c-come a-hand st-st-stay with us any-anyway after m-m-my un-huncle... we-well it's-s a lo-ho-hong st-story.”

“Oh, who? Everyone knows everyone in Derry.”

“B-B-Beverly Ma-arsh?” And Stan’s eyebrows shoot skyward, knowing exactly why Bev needs someone to be her guardian. Stan had been the one she came to after her father had _abused_ her for the last time.

“Yeah, I know her. She’s one of my best friends. You should totally hang out with us sometime.”

“Y-yeah?” Then the bell rang. Bill reaches his hand toward Stan. “Gi-ive me y-your ph-hone. I’ll put m-m-my nu-humber i-i-in.” Stan rustles around in his bag for his phone, unlocks it, and hands it to Bill, unfortunately not having touched his hand at all, though he certainly tried. Bill puts his number in and sends himself a text. “S-ho I-I-I’ll ha-ave your n-n-number.”

Stan smiles at Bill and takes his phone back. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Bill Denbrough.”

“S-s-same to y-you, Stan Uris,” Bill says, smiling back. Stan loves the way that Bill was able to say his name without stuttering and picks up his bag before he can make a fool of himself. He rushes to his locker to drop off the heavy textbooks that have been weighing him down all day and heads for the front door to find Richie.

As he steps down the last stair of the main steps, someone pushes him to the ground and his backpack goes flying. “Hey, fuckface, you miss me?” a familiar voice says. “You gonna answer me, you fucker?” Henry Bowers, all around asshole and bully to all the unfortunate souls who are not popular, stands above him flanked by his cronies, Patrick Hockstetter, Victor Criss, and Belch Huggins.

“H-hey!” another familiar voice says. “L-L-Leave him al-lone!” Stan can hear Bill pounding towards them.

“Wh-wh-wh-wh-what are you gonna d-d-do about it, new kid?” Bowers says, turning towards Bill long enough that Stan can skitter away.

“Do y-y-you wanna f-find out?” Bill says stepping forward, an unbelievable amount of defiance in his voice.

Bowers opens his mouth as if to say something more, but then the bus pulls up and honks. “You got lucky this time, Stuttering Sally. C’mon.” He and his friends stalk away towards the bus. He throws one last awful look at them, eyes narrowed and teeth bared like an animal, and climbs the rest of the way in. Once he’s out of sight, Bill places his right hand in his left elbow and extends his middle finger in Bower’s general direction. Stan can’t help but snicker.

“Are y-hou o-okay?” Bill asks, turning toward him and offering a hand.

Stan gets up on one knee and grabs Bill’s hand as he says, “Yeah, it’s nothing ne-”

And everything _stops_.

The world explodes into color.

His mind supplies the names of all the colors as he stands and looks around. The tree tops are _green_ and their trunks are _brown_. The sky is _blue_ , like his shirt, just as his mom said. His skin is not much different out of black and white, but there is certainly a _peachy_ color there. The school buses are _yellow_ and the bricks of the building are _tan_. The ground is  _gray_ and _brown_. And Bill. Bill’s hair is a coppery _red_ and his eyes are blue, but not like the sky. They are like a mixture of the sky and the trees. _Teal_. The word bounces back and forth inside of his head. He can feel the smile growing on his face. But Bill is not smiling. In fact, his face hasn’t changed at all.

“Don’t you see all of this?” Stan asks, breathless and in wonder, still glancing at his surroundings, trying to soak up everything around him all at once.

Bill looks around confusedly. “See all of what?”

Stan’s smile falters. “The colors.”

That’s when it all goes to hell.

Bill rips his hand away from Stan and color drains from the world. His face is contorted by anger. “I-I-I don’t kn-ow h-how you f-f-found ou-t, b-b-but I d-don’t think it’s f-f-funny.”

“Found what out?” Stan's eyebrows knit together in pure confusion.

Bill looks around quickly to make sure nobody is listening (the schoolyard is empty except for a few stragglers) before harshly whispering, “Th-hat I’m c-c-colorblind.”

Stan’s eyes, if it is even possible, widen farther. “Colorblind? Like, medically colorblind?” he says incredulously. When Bill nods, he feels the beginnings of anger and frustration trickle into his bloodstream.

“Y-yeah,” Bill says, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “A-and I do-hon’t apr-pr-prciate y-you t-teasing me like this. Th-that’s a-ano-hother pa-hart of the re-re-reason I le-left Aug-husta. P-p-people kept co-huming u-up to me-e and preten-ten-tending they were my so-houlma-a-ate all the ti-hme and I ha-ated it. I-i-it’s like they we-ere ru-hubbing in my fa-ace that I-I-I’ll never se-hee what the w-w-world lo-ooks like!”

And Stan can’t hold it in anymore: “I have waited my entire _fucking life_ to find my soulmate, watch all my friends meet theirs, and when I meet mine he’s fucking _colorblind!_ ” He looks skyward. “Is this some sort of sick joke, God? Huh? Because I’m not laughing!”  
  
“ _Y-y-you’re_ not laughing?” Bill says. “We-helcome to m-m-my whole god-d-d-damn li-hife!”

“I just can’t believe this!” Stan is nearly screaming. He digs his knuckles into his eyes to try and focus his thinking before he says something he’ll regret. “Christ!”

“Oh, co-home o-o-on. Qu-qu-quit it wi-hith the bullsh-sh-sh-shit! I h-have to ha-and it t-t-to you. Y-y-you’re the mo-host invol-ol-olved act I’ve see-heen y-yet. A-and a damn convi-i-incing actor at tha-hat. I alm-ost belie-e-eved yo-hou for a s-s-second! Good sh-show,” Bill says furiously. He is smiling a bitter, awful smile, almost a sneer.

Stan’s voice comes out quiet when he speaks: “You don’t believe me?”

“No-hot for a s-second,” Bill spits, words full of venom.

A single tear spills out of Stan’s right eye and he clenches them shut tight, hoping to stop the oncoming tears he feel advancing. He struggles to keep his voice even when he opens his eyes. “You’re right. Why believe the kid who’s only wanted this since he was little? Have a nice life, asshole.” The tears start flowing freely now and Bill’s whole demeanor changes. His shoulders relax and his eyebrows separate. It looks like he regrets everything he's said up to this point but it’s too late.

Stan picks up his backpack, slings it over his shoulders, and walks as quickly as he can without running in the general direction of Richie’s car, praying that he’s still here. In the distance, Stan can make out two blurry figures through the tears and figures they must be Richie and Eddie. He sprints the last couple of yards to get away from Bill as fast as he can.

“Hey what's up, Stan the Man?” Richie says seeing his best friend approaching. When Stan lifts his head and Richie sees the tears on his face, he pushes himself off the table he was leaning against. “You okay, Stan?”

Stan only shakes his head a few times before sobbing and practically falling into Richie’s arms, forehead landing on his left collarbone and gripping him in a vice around his waist. Richie hugs back just as tightly, not quite sure what’s going on. “Please take me home,” Stan says, voice thick with tears and muffled by Richie’s shirt. “Please, I’ll explain later, you just gotta take me home. Okay? Please, Rich, please, just take me home!” He begins to sound hysterical at the end and clutches Richie’s shirt in his fingers.

“Yeah, okay, absolutely,” Richie says. “Let me just get my-”  
  
“H-h-hey, St-han, wait!” he hears Bill shout from across the parking lot.

Horror fills Stan’s face, he says, “Oh, God, no,” and Richie kicks into overdrive. He hustles Stan into the passenger seat of the car and tells Eddie to stay there with him. Stan can vacantly hear Richie talking to Bill and Bill’s loud protesting, but his head is turned away from the window so Bill won’t be able to see his tears anymore. He absently feels Eddie rubbing his shoulder from the back seat.

“Listen, man,” Richie says at last, his voice stern in a way that Stan wouldn't _dare_ defy if he were Bill. “I don’t know who you are, but I think it’s time for you to go.” There are no more arguments and Richie climbs into the driver’s seat, starts the car, and backs out of his spot. Stan risks a look in the rearview mirror as they drive away and sees Bill fumbling to get his phone out of his pocket and typing furiously on it. Stan feels his pocket buzz and goes for his own phone. At the last minute, he decides to ignore it; whoever it was can wait.

The text goes unread for the rest of the night. It simply contained two short words from Bill Denbrough: _I’m sorry._

 

 


	2. Bill Denbrough Has Fucked Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I have no words about how late this is except I'm sorry, please take this as a peace offering *slides chapter over the table and runs away*

“I-I-I fu-hucked up b-big t-t-time, Bev,” Bill states suddenly, a horrible hollowness filling his voice. His cousin, who had previously been painting Bill’s toenails because she was bored, looks up and studies his face. A painful sadness creases his forehead. He draws his legs into his chest, hugging them close to his body, and resting a cheek on his knee. Bev closes and sets down the bottle of “Caribbean Frost” nail polish in her hands, shuts her bedroom door, and joins Bill on her bed.

She pries one of the hands that was clenched so tightly in the fabric of his jeans away and rubs soothing circles on the back of it. “Tell me,” she says softly. And Bill does tell, not leaving out a single detail, about the events of the previous week with Stan. When he’s finished he takes in a shaky breath and immediately bursts into loud, body-wracking sobs. Bev backs up against the headboard and gently puts an arm around her cousin’s body, allowing him to rest his head on her shoulder.

“H-he talks to m-m-me in ph-hysics, b-but on-only be-cause he _ha-as_ to. He-ee av-v-voids me any-y-ywhere e-helse! Ho-ow do I f-f-fix this? Be-evvie, help-p me.”

“Listen,” she says, resting her head on top of Bill’s. “I’m gonna need you to calm down before we do anything else. I won’t be able to understand you.” Bill swallows thickly and clenches his eyes while taking a few deep, cleansing breaths. “Good?” Bill nods. “Now, let me tell you a little bit about Stan Uris." Bill nods again. "His father is the rabbi at the synagogue downtown, which means he has pressure from not only his parents, but the whole community. They place so many expectations on him to be the perfect Jewish son. His mother is also a professor at the community college in Bangor, so he feels pressured to have perfect grades and a well-rounded resumé. On top of all of that, he’s watched all of his close friends find their soulmates plus countless others in school. And I know you’re colorblind, Billy, and that sucks, but put yourself in his shoes. Once he saw the colors after he touched your hand, he probably thought something like, well, that’s one less place I have to worry about being perfect.”

After Bev’s speech, Bill begins to cry again, less physically this time. They sit in silence for a while, waiting for this bout of tears to pass. Bev absentmindedly fingers the material of his soft sweatshirt.

When Bill regains composure, he says, “I-I-I didn’t kn-how. A-and I di-hidn’t _m-m-mean_ to rea-act s-s-so harshly. It’s j-just that I-I-I’m _ti-hred_ of p-p-people u-using m-me-ee that I-I-I built up wa-halls so I wouldn-n-n’t have t-to deal w-w-with it an-ymore. M-my first a-s-s-sumption was that he was l-l-lying.”

“If there’s one thing you can count on Stan for it’s complete and total honesty, no matter how brutal the truth is,” Bev says turning to look at Bill. He sits up so they can look each other in the eye and she reaches her hand out to brush his tears away with her thumb. “We’re hanging out in an hour at Eddie’s to marathon Harry Potter. I think you should come with me, make friends with the others. You don’t have to talk to Stan. I know you’re not ready for that yet, but I need you to stop moping in the guest room.” Bill laughs humorlessly and fixes a sad smile on his face.

“I-I-I gue-ess th-there are w-w-worse th-things,” Bill says.

“That’s the spirit!” Bev says a little too cheerily for the situation. She stands and stretches her arms high above her head. “Now, what’s it gonna take for you to let me paint your fingers?”

~ ~ ~

“You did _what?!_ ” Stan exclaims. He whirls around from Eddie’s counter where he had been filling bowls with snacks to look at the boy. Eddie’s face is lined with a grimace.

“I had Bev invite Bill to hang out today,” he says. When Stan raises his eyebrows at Eddie, he continues. “Look, Bill may have fucked up, but you didn’t see his face when Rich told him to leave. He was heartbroken, even though he didn’t know you well. I think he knows way deep down that you guys are soulmates.” Stan smiles sadly at Eddie who smiles back.

Richie comes back into the room then. “So you told him?”

Eddie smacks his soulmate in the chest. “You ass! You went to the bathroom and left me to drop this bomb on poor Stan. Go finish his job.”

Richie salutes as he says, “Sir, yes, sir,” and marches towards the bowls Stan had been filling. Eddie smiles at him and heads to his room to change. Richie says quietly to his best friend, “You okay with this? If not, we could go somewhere else.” Stan is stunned that Richie would offer to leave his soulmate for him. Richie must pick up on this because he stops filling the pretzels and faces Stan. “I know since I’ve met Eddie, I haven’t been the best friend and honestly I’m so sorry.  I just hope we can get back to where we were… before all this happened.”

“Yeah,” Stan says, shocked a little with the sincerity and lack of mischievousness in his voice. “Yes.” He puts his arms around Richie’s shoulders and hugs him tight. Richie hugs back around his midsection and they stay like that for a while. When they let go of each other, Richie nods. “I’ll be fine, I think,” Stan says, helping Richie seal the bags of snacks. “I kind of want to apologize to Bill for blowing up in his face anyway.”

“That a boy, Stanny!” Richie says, clapping his best friend on the shoulder before picking up a piece of paper with a printed recipe on it. “Now help me mix this Butterbeer shit or Eddie will have my head.”

~ ~ ~

Bill is anxious. He hasn’t seen Stan outside of school since last Thursday when he went to tryout for the baseball team, saw Stan warming up on the diamond, and promptly turned around and went home. Now, as he walks up the Kaspbraks’ front steps behind his cousin, he feels a lump rising in his throat. He wants more than anything to apologize for being such an ass last Monday, but between his stutter and his sudden inability to talk at all, that won’t be happening.

“C’mon, Billy,” Bev says, knocking on the door and a short boy answers it. “Hey, E!” Bev hugs him and walks through the door. _This must be Eddie Kaspbrak_ , Bill thinks as he waits for him to invite him up.

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him and Bill feels oddly intimidated by this short boy. “You must be Bill,” he says. His voice is filled with muted animosity, but then he steps away from the doorway and allows Bill to go through, who thinks that he must have passed some sort of test. He rushes to catch up with Bev, who’s standing in the doorway of the living room talking to the boy who fended him off last week. _Richie_ , Bill thinks.

“Hey, guys,” Bev says to the whole room. “This is my cousin, Bill, he’ll be staying with us for a while.”

Bill waves timidly and smiles. “H-hey.” He notices Stan sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the room not looking at him and feels a little ache in his chest.

But a boy with dark skin smiles infectiously, showing off pearly whites, and pats the spot on the floor next to him. When Bill sits in the indicated spot, the boy says, “Hi. I’m Mike Hanlon. Nice to meet you, Bill.”

“N-n-nice to mee-eet you, t-too,” Bill replies with a smile of his own, but internally he curses himself for his stuttering.

“Wow, Rich wasn’t kidding about your stutter,” another boy says from the couch adjacent to his spot on the floor. Bev is holding his hand and Bill infers this must be her soulmate.

“Ben!” his cousin says, swatting him on the arm with her free hand. “It’s not polite to point stuff like that out!”

Bill waves off Ben’s impending apology. “I-it’s alright, Be-hevvie. He w-w-was just m-making an obs-s-servation.” Then he turns to Ben and puts on a serious face, dropping his voice a little. “Y-y-you tre-heating my c-cousin right?” Ben’s eyes widen comically and he nods his head yes rapidly. Bill drops the act and begins to laugh. “C-c-calm down, ma-han. I’m j-just m-m-messing with yo-hou.”

Ben huffs out a single laugh and points a finger at Bill. “You really had me going there, wise guy.” Then he laughs some more. “You’re pretty cool, new kid.”

“Th-thanks, Ben,” Bill replies an easy smile coming over his face.

“Aright, kiddies, let’s get this shit show on the road!” Richie announces, helping Eddie to bring in bowls of snacks to put on the coffee table Mike and Bill are sitting behind. Eddie rolls his eyes and places the bowls he’d been carrying down before sitting in the love seat next to Stan.

“Richie’s not one for Harry Potter but Eddie and the rest of us love it, so he puts up with it,” Mike says softly.

As Richie leans over to put his bowls down, he gives Bill a menacing once-over before turning out the lights, pressing play on the DVD player, and plopping down on the floor in front of Eddie. Bill feels as though he's being judged from all angles tonight. They sit through the first and second movies, laughing and enjoying themselves, before snacks run out.

“I-I’ll help,” Bill offers, standing from his seat on the floor to join Eddie in the kitchen. They work in silence side by side to refill snacks and to put whipped cream on top of the “Butterbeer” that Eddie found a recipe for online.

“Hey, Eds!” Richie shouts from the living room.

“Yeah?” Eddie shouts back, handing his whipped cream spoon to Bill.

“Come here for a minute. Your DVD player isn’t working anymore. We’ll send someone else in to help Bill.”

“Coming,” Eddie says, wiping his hands on the towel hanging from the oven handle. “Don’t fuck this up.” What? Fuck what up? Bill is so confused until he hears Eddie whisper none too quietly, “This is your chance, Stan. Get in there!” _Then_ he knows. He’s seen enough movies to know what happens next, so he’s not surprised when Stan stumbles in, looking as though he’s been pushed, and shooting a betrayed look over his shoulder toward the living room.

“H-here,” he says, presenting Stan with Eddie’s discarded spoon. “Y-y-you do tho-hose t-two and I-I-I’ll finish u-up thi-his one.”

“Sure,” Stan says. It’s the first thing Bill has heard him say all night. The tension in the air is so thick, you could cut it with a knife. Then, they both begin to talk at once.

“I’m sorry.” A tense laugh. “You go first. Okay, I’ll go.” Another tense laugh. But Bill is considerably more stutter-y because he’s nervous.

“You go ahead,” Stan says, returning to filling the top of the cups with cream.

“I-” and Bill has to take a deep breath before he can go on. “I’m sorry. I-I-I di-hidn’t m-mean to get so a-angry, i-i-it’s just tha-hat pe-pe-people play-aying w-with my colorbli-i-indness and m-making it into a-a joke ha-as ha-a-appened my whole l-life. I didn’t w-want someone I th-th-thought was so ni-ice and sw-sweet to take adv-v-vantage of me, t-too.” Bill doesn’t know where all these words are coming from, but there are three more: “Pl-please forgi-ive me?”

Stan allows him to finish talking and doesn’t interrupt once (which is more than Bill can say for most people) before he responds: “I’ll forgive you, but only if you forgive me too.” Bill opens his mouth to protest, but Stan holds up one finger, effectively halting him. “Let me speak, please. I’ve waited my whole life to find my soulmate and I’ve been forced to watch my friends and family members live their lives happily in love. And when I found you I thought, ‘Wow. This is what it feels like.’” Bill notices Stan noticing Bill’s knuckles whiten as he holds the edge of the counter in a death grip and can hear the forced breath in and out of his lungs. “I put a lot of pressure on this moment I had envisioned for forever and on you because I just assumed you’d be able to see the colors too.” Stan releases a shaky breath. “So, I’m sorry.”

“I f-f-forgive you,” Bill says. The two boys smile at each other and finish their glasses of Butterbeer.

“I have a proposition,” Stan says as he closes the whipped cream container and pops it back in the fridge.

“Sh-shoot.”

“Let’s start over. We can pretend that the whole ordeal with the colors didn’t happen and we can get to know each other.” Stan tacks on quickly, “As friends. Then we can see if anything happens from there.”

“O-okay. Hi! I-I-I’m Bill De-denbrough,” he says, playing along.

Stan smiles and says, “Nice to meet you, Bill. I’m Stan Uris. Aren’t you in my physics class?”

“W-why, I belie-heve I a-a-am.” They laugh at each other’s antics, Bill shaking his head amusedly. “L-l-let’s get the-hese dr-drinks out th-th-there.”

“Wait,” Stan says. Then he leans close to whisper and Bill can smell the calming, clean scent of Stan’s cologne. “How much you want to bet that someone’s listening to us right now?”

“A-a-as much as yo-hou want t-to bet th-th-that the D-DVD pla-yer was n-never bro-hoken in th-the fi-hirst pl-pl-place,” Bill says right back. The two chuckle again and Stan heads to the door on tip toe, presumably so as not to alert whoever was on the other side that he was coming. He signals at Bill to grab the tray of drinks and he yanks the door open, causing Eddie to fall forward onto the kitchen floor. Stan shoots him a pointed look that says, _See? I win._ Bill simply raises a delicate eyebrow that responds, _Just be patient._

“How’s it going, fellas?” Eddie says nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just been caught eavesdropping. Bill ignores him and steps over him to get to the living room. He sets the tray down on the coffee table, looking each of the kids up and down. Mike and Richie look like the definition of calm and cool, Bev simply fixes him with an innocent look, but Ben. Ben is like an open book and it reads _You were set up._

“Good thing we fixed that DVD player, right guys?” he says with a nervous chuckle. Mike lets out a sigh and Richie smacks his forehead. Bill gives Stan a cocky look and Stan rolls his eyes, but smiles, showing off his dimples.

“Let’s watch the third movie,” Stan says, helping Eddie up and entering the room. Bill sits back in his spot on the floor and this time, Stan forgoes the love seat and sits next to him. There is a low, almost unintelligible, collective gasp from the rest of the room. The two boys smile at each other and clink their glasses together before turning to the TV to watch.

~ ~ ~

Tensions are high for the next two weeks at Derry High School. On Friday night of the second week, the football team has their first game of the season and Bill’s first game as the team’s wide receiver. Stan could practically feel the nerves rolling off of him in waves. Both he and Mike, who plays QB, had assured Bill that he’d be alright because he was a pretty exceptional player.

By the time Friday rolled around, it was like classes didn’t exist. Any classroom with a letterman jacket in it had a discussion about the upcoming season. Much to Stan’s chagrin, that also includes his physics class. It’s not so much that he wants to do physics, because he doesn’t, it’s that he doesn’t want to be surrounded by a bunch of people who don’t truly care about Bill and only his popularity.

After physics, Bill walks Stan to his locker, but doesn’t say much. “You okay?” he asks, grabbing his Spanish notebook and psychology textbook out of his locker. “If this is about the game tonight, you’re gonna do fine. How many times do Mike and I have to te-”

“W-w-will you w-wear my jer-ersey?” Bill has his eyes clenched shut and his face turned away, but Stan an see that it’s burning dark.

A fluttering sensation erupts in Stan’s chest and he tries to keep his voice from rising three octaves as he replies, “Yeah, sure.”

A great, bright smile breaks out over Bill’s face as Stan closes his locker and they head for his. Bill exchanges his books and pulls out the practice jersey that are the inverse shades of gray of his regular one with a big number 27 on the back. Stan takes it and delicately folds it over his arm so it won’t wrinkle. “I-I-I washed it alr-r-ready, s-so yo-hou do-don’t ha-ave to w-w-worry ab-out it.”

“Thank you,” Stan says. He sounds calm outwardly, but inside he’s freaking out. “I’ll- I’ll see you tonight, then?”

“Y-yeah, see yo-hou th-th-then,” Bill replies, abruptly hugging Stan and walking away. As Stan walks towards Richie’s car, he tries to fight the grin on his face but finds that he can’t.

“Oh, ho, ho!” Richie says, coming up from behind him with Eddie and taking the jersey from his arm. “What have we here?”

“ _Careful_ , dumbass,” Stan says, rolling his eyes, but really not wanting to be teased right now.

He watches Richie’s eyes scan the single word (Denbrough) at the top of Bill’s jersey and sends a devious look his way. “You, sly dog, you.”

“Bill asked you to wear his jersey?” Eddie asks, an impossibly happy tone filling the question.

Stan scratches the back of his neck and avoids eye contact, “Yeah.” He can feel the goofy smile stretch over his face before he can stop it.

“Attaboy, Stanny!” Eddie says, punching his arm lightly.

“It’s nothing romantic,” Stan says, not even convincing himself. “Just take me home! I have to go help my mom make dinner.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Richie says in his New York accent, and getting into the car.

When Stan finally gets home, there is a note on the dining room table written in his mother’s cramped writing: _“Stanley, your father and I have decided to have a date night this evening. Have fun at the football game. Here’s your allowance for the week plus a little extra for tonight. Don’t stay out too late. -Mom”_

“Guess I don’t have to make dinner,” Stan says aloud, discarding the note and pocketing the thirty dollars. Because all of the teachers were so hooked on this evening’s game, there is no homework for him to complete and all of his chores were done for the week. He decides to finish some of the videos on his Watch Later list on YouTube. That goes well for all of about ten minutes until he falls asleep, earbuds still in and video still playing.

~ ~ ~

Stan is awoken by a pounding on the door. He groggily falls out of bed and makes his way clumsily to the front door. “Yeah?” he says upon opening it and rubs his eyes.

“It’s time to go!” Ben says, then notices Stan's deshevled state and the clouded look on his face. “What are you doing?”

Stan’s eyes snap open, suddenly very alert, and he realizes that the sunlight is fading into darkness.

“What time is it?” Stan asks, panic setting in. He ushers Ben inside and closes the door before sprinting up the stairs to change. He hears Ben follow after him and into Stan’s room. “7:25!” he reads from his phone.

“Yeah,” Ben says, standing in the doorway watching Stan throw clothes around and looking for clean jeans and a t-shirt. “The rest of the gang is at the stadium already. Bev sent me to get you because the game starts in five minutes.”

“Okay,” Stan says, pulling the jersey on over his white long-sleeved shirt.

“Is that Bill’s jersey?” Ben asks running down the stairs in front of Stan and unlocking his car.

“No, Ben,” Stan retorts monotonously, closing the front door and climbing into the passenger seat before he pulls away. “It’s Oprah Winfrey’s jersey. Yes, it’s Bill’s!” Ben gives him a look that says, _Seriously?_

“Sorry, you know I get snarky when I’m stressed,” Stan says, gripping the door handle tightly. When they finally pull into the lot fifteen minutes after the game starts, Stan practically jumps out of the car and runs towards the stadium, Ben trailing exasperatedly behind him. They flash their student IDs to the bored looking guy standing at the entrance and get into the stands. Ben leads them back to where the rest of the losers are.

“Found him,” Ben announces to their friends.

“Hey, Stan!” Richie says, climbing down over a row of seats to meet him. “Your boy’s been playing like shit! Where were you?”

“I accidentally fell asleep,” Stan replies, but he’s scanning all the players’ backs for Bill. Then he spots his number. Stan can’t see Bill’s face underneath his helmet, but he can tell there’s a grimace there. Since they’re huddled off to the side, the coach testily telling them what to do, Stan feels fairly confident that Richie’s not lying. When the whistle blows and the players line up on the field again, Stan cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “ _Go number 27! Woo!_ ” surprising all of his friends. “What?” he says at their confused looks.

Bill looks up quickly, sees Stan waving his arms in the air, and gives him a quick wave. From then on, the game is like a bloodbath. As the announcer gives a play-by-play of what’s going on on the field, the students watch on in hypnotized anticipation. The Derry High Knights begin to pick up the pace, gaining on the Underwood Heights High Tigers. The first three quarters end with the Tigers narrowly beating the Knights. By the end of the fourth quarter, the Knights and the Tigers are all tied up. There are thirty seconds on the clock when the whistle blows. Mike passes the ball to Bill who is impossibly dodging all of the Tigers’ defensive linemen. Bill finally reaches the 10 yard line, 5 yards, 4, 3, 2, 1…

 _"TOUCHDOWN! THE KNIGHTS WIN!"_ the annoucer shouts.

The crowd goes verifiably bonkers. Everyone stands and rushes onto the field, hoping to get a good look at the players. The Losers greet Mike first because there’s not as big of a swarm around him as there is around Bill. They see Bill muscle his way out of the suffocating crowd and run towards them.

Stan smiles the biggest as he locks eyes with Bill’s. Bill puts his arms around Stan in a big embrace, literally sweeping him off his feet. Because there is no skin touching skin, Stan sees no color, but he doesn’t need to. His eyes are shut because he’s laughing so hard and yelling, “You did it! You did it!”

Bill finally puts him down, whispers, “Y-you look go-hood in th-th-that,” and lets his other friends and cousin hug him. Stan flushes warmly and before he can get it under control, Eddie flashes a knowing look at him.

~ ~ ~

The seven losers are crammed into a round booth at Shirley’s, an old truck stop from the 50s turned into a diner. Mike and Bill decided to skip victory pizza with the rest of the team this time to hang out with their friends. While they wait for their food, they decide they want to play a game, but have no idea which one.

“Telephone,” Ben suggests.

“No, that’s child’s play,” Richie replies. “How about Truth or Dare?”

“And you had the nerve to talk about child’s play,” Eddie scoffs.

“Never Have I Ever?” Mike offers tentatively as if he didn’t _really_ want to play it.

“That’s so juvenile,” Bev says, rummaging around in her bag. “Plus, Richie is always the first to go out. A-ha!” She brandishes two pads of sticky notes. “Head’s Up, the written edition?” Everyone agrees, and Bev hands out a sticky note to each person.

“Why do you have this many sticky notes?” Stan asks, taking one and passing it along.

“Your mom, that’s why,” Bev replies, then hastily adds: “I’m just kidding. I think the world of your mother.”

Each of them takes a crayon from the plastic cup in the middle of the table. “So how are we doing this?” Mike asks.

“We each pick a celebrity for the person to our left and put it on their foreheads. Then we try to guess who we are,” Bev states, writing something very quickly in her blue crayon and slapping it onto Mike’s head across the entrance to the booth. Then, the rest of them follow suit. Bill gets Mike’s, Stan gets Bill’s, Richie gets Stan’s, Eddie gets Richie’s, and Bev gets Eddie’s.

“Me first,” Richie says, rubbing his hands together. His sticky note says _Marilyn Monroe_ in Stan’s impeccably neat handwriting. Bill gets out his phone and sets the timer for a minute. “Am I a dude?”

“No,” everyone choruses. And so it goes for the rest of the minute, Richie not guessing his in the allotted minute. Then Eddie goes and he guesses his (Judy Garland) in 11 seconds flat. “How did you do that?!”

“Because you’re predictable, Richard,” Eddie replies, pealing the sticky note off his forehead. They keep going, Bev doesn’t guess hers, which is surprising because it’s Molly Ringwald. Mike and Bill both accurately guess Mark Hamill and Freddie Mercury respectively. Then finally, it’s Stan’s turn.

“Am I a woman?” Stan asks.

Everyone looks confusedly at Bill, which is a very _bad_ sign for Stan. “Y-y-yes,” he says.

“Am I a writer?”

Bill looks excited. “Ye-heah.”

“Is she American?”

The excitement goes away. “N-no.”

Stan racks his brain for female authors who aren’t American and just can’t think of any. “I have absolutely no idea,” he replies just as the timer goes off.

“Who the hell is that?” Richie asks, snatching the sticky note off of Stan’s forehead. “Lang Leav?”

“Sh-sh-she’s a-a Thai auth-thor. I-I-I like h-her poe-etry,” Bill states. Stan looks at the others’ faces to see if they know who Lang Leav is. Only Bev shows some recognition. She’s giving her cousin a smirk and her eyes are laughing. When Stan catches her eye, he raises an eyebrow in silent question. She just shakes her head. “L-let me out,” Bill says, tapping Mike on the shoulder. “Wh-where’s the bath-th-room?”

“I’ll show you,” Bev offers. But before the walk away, Stan hears Bev whisper. “You are so _gone_ on that boy.”

Their food comes just after Bev gets back and everyone digs in. Most of them got burgers, but Eddie got a hotdog and Mike got a salad. When Bill gets back to the table, he cuts his burger in half and lets out a sound of disapproval.

“What’s wrong?” Stan asks.

Bill turns his plate around to reveal a mostly raw hamburger patty. It’s even oozing blood in some places, causing Eddie to gag a little.“I-I-I can st-still he-ear my f-f-fucking di-hinner mooing!”

Richie starts to laugh loudly and uncontrollably, causing him to nearly choke on his food. Everyone looks surprised cause it takes a lot for Richie to genuinely laugh. Because of all the shit that went down between Stan and Bill, nobody suspected Richie to be friends with him. He pounds his fist on the table and says, still laughing, “Stuttering Bill gets off a good one!” This causes everyone to laugh and earns them a few strange looks from the other patrons. Once everyone has calmed down, Richie has one more thing to say: “Welcome to the loser’s club, asshole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> »Hi, lovlies! I'm so, so, so sorry that it took this long to post chapter 2. I didn't want to until I finished chapter 4, but then school really picked up steam and I haven't gotten the chance to work on it until now.  
> »Richie, honey, baby, you're not intimidating, I swear.  
> »Got something really nice lined up for y'all next chapter!!!  
> »Love you guys! Thanks for reading!  
> »Check me out on tumblr (main: hi-hello-hey-there, it/st: stenbrough-lives).
> 
> -B


	3. Stan Uris Has A Date and Nothing to Wear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, everyone! Happy Holidays to those who celebrate and may you all have a restful and relaxing winter break! Here's chapter 3, coming at you. Enjoy!

It’s a Wednesday afternoon and Stan has nothing to do, having already finished his homework after baseball practice. He sits on his bed, laptop perched on his knees, and types carefully into the search engine “lang leav poetry” and clicks on the images. He scrolls through the first few and reads them slowly. He really _feels_ all the poetry, even though it is mostly about lost love and failed relationships; it's as if he’s getting a glimpse into Bill’s mind. The fourth image he comes upon is a poem called ‘Always’. He reads it about five times and memorizes it in the process.

“You were you,  
and I was I;  
We were two,  
before our time.

I was yours,  
before I knew;  
and you have always  
been mine too.”

Stan knows, without a doubt, that this is the poem Bill had in mind when sticking the author’s name on his head.

And suddenly he can’t handle it anymore. His phone is in his hand before he knows what’s happening, thumb hovering over Bill’s contact. He presses the call button and waits. The dial tone gives Stan anxiety and he can hear his heavy breaths reflected back at him through the phone. He counts the ringing to try and stabilize his breathing.

On the seventh tone, Bill picks up. “H-hello?”

“You were you,” Stan says, his heart dropping all the way down to his toes. “And I was I.” He hopes and prays that Bill will know what he’s talking about.

“W-we were t-t-two, bef-hore our t-time,” Bill responds and Stan feels a relieved huff of air leave his lungs. He chuckles softly and hears Bill do the same over the receiver. There is a comfortable silence that lasts for Stan doesn’t know how long before he speaks again, “W-would you li-hike to g-go on a date w-with me, Stan?”

Stan feels a lump rise in his throat and fights to get the words out: “Yes, Bill. Of course. How about Friday? You can pick what we do.”

On the other end of the line, Bill feels a surge of emotion wash over him. In his getting to know Stan the past month, he learned that Stan has to be in charge of every detail, otherwise he gets paranoid about the end result. This ranges over everything from physics labs to a night spent with his friends. “O-okay,” Bill chokes out. “I’ll pi-hick y-y-you up at s-s-six?”

“Sounds great,” Stan says, biting down on his lip to keep from releasing a very loud, very high pitched, very embarrassing noise. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bill.”

“By-hie, Stan.”

“Bye.” Stan clicks off and smiles widely to himself. Then a minor panic sets in: _My first date ever? What am I going to wear? What am I going to say? Holy shit, I’m gonna throw up._ Then he picks up the phone one more time to call someone else.

“Hello?” the voice says groggily after picking up.

“Richie,” Stan says, standing from the edge of his bed and facing his closet. “I need your help.”

~ ~ ~

The following day passes quite quickly considering the sheer amount of nerves running through both Bill and Stan. Every time Richie sees Stan in the hallway, he makes a suggestive face and shoots finger guns at him. Eddie, who’s usually by his side, will push his soulmate away and mouth ‘I’m sorry’ at Stan.

When last period starts, Bill is nowhere to be seen. Stan doesn’t have any time to fret because the bell rings and Dr. Luca begins class. However, when the final bell rings, he becomes very worried and hurries to find Richie or Bev to tell them. In a stroke of good luck, he finds both of them outside sitting at one of the picnic tables set up there.

“Hey, guys!” Stan shouts to get their attention as he makes his way over. “Have either of you seen Bill? He wasn’t in last period.” Both of his friends make strange faces at each other.

“That’s not like him at all. We should look for him,” Bev states, hopping down from the tabletop, grabbing both Stan and Richie by the hand, and dragging them after her. The trio searches high and low, starting with the top floor of the main building, then going to the art room in the basement, and finishing in the gym.

They start to lose hope and are walking back to the main building so Stan can go to his locker when they spot him leaving the nurse’s office, an ice pack pressed to his face.

“Bill!” Bev shouts, racing down the hall to get to her cousin. Richie and Stan don’t run, but they pick up the pace to catch up to her. When they’re all gathered around Bill, Bev delicately moves the ice pack away to reveal a darkening black eye. She gasps. “What happened?” Bill looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“C’mon,” Richie says, his usual joking tone gone and replaced with a more serious, concerned one. “Out with it, Denbrough.”

“I-I was on m-m-my way to ph-hysics when B-Bowers caught up w-with m-m-me,” he starts. A painful look covers his face, so Stan reaches out and places an arm around his shoulders, careful not to touch any skin. Bill shoots him a thankful look before continuing his story. “H-he grabbed me by the c-c-collar a-hand slammed aga-hainst a w-wall and ca-halled me n-n-nasty, unre-repeatable names-s. He e-even la-handed a good p-p-punch before a te-heacher came out of his cl-classroom and got Bo-how-owers off m-me.”

Bev looks ready to hit something and Stan can only agree. “Where is he?” she asks, shoulders tightening and fists opening and closing sporadically. “I’m gonna kick his ass. He’ll get expelled for sure if he hits a girl.”

“Wow, okay, Bev,” Stan says, placing his free hand on her shoulder. “I get that you’re angry, cause, trust me, I am too. But getting yourself beat up isn’t going to help our situation. So, put away your fists, Million Dollar Baby, and take a deep breath. Bill said a teacher broke them up, so I’m sure he’s getting what's coming to him as we speak.”

She seems to deflate after Stan’s little speech and nods at him. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, Stanny.”

Stan smiles closed-lipped at her before turning to Bill and removing his arm. He points at his eye. “Can I, um, take a look?” Bill simply nods and Stan tentatively steps closer and extends his fingers towards Bill’s face. With the first contact of skin on skin, colors erupt around him. They showcase the ugly purple the bruise is. Somehow, seeing it in color is worse, and Stan clenches his teeth as he feels for broken or splintered bones and irregularities. Other than being a little swollen, there’s nothing wrong with Bill’s eye save for discoloration. Stan removes his fingertips from Bill’s cheekbone and reports as color drips away from the world, “Nothing to be worried about. It’ll just hurt like a bitch for a while.” The four begin to walk towards Stan's locker and then the parking lot, this time hoping to leave before another crisis breaks out.

“That’s Stan for you,” Richie comments. “Someday, he’s going to be a doctor. Or an accountant. Or an accountant doctor!”

“Shut up, Rich,” Stan says, but he’s laughing. Everyone is. As always, Richie’s strange sense of humor has defused the awkwardness building between them and Stan can only be thankful. Once they reach Richie’s car, Bill heads straight for the bike rack. He works a key out of his backpack and unlocks the chain.

“C-can I p-p-put this in yo-hour tr-trunk?” he asks, pushing the bike towards the rest of the group.

“Yeah, sure,” Richie says, getting into the driver’s seat. “Stan, why don’t you help him?”

“Right,” Stan says, going to open the back for Bill. He sees the world ‘SILVER’ etched onto the side of the bike in permanent marker. It’s fading in some places from wear but still legible. “Did you name your bike Silver?”

“Y-yeah,” Bill says carefully lifting it into the back of the car and laying it down before slamming the trunk shut. “My mo-hom says th-th-that th-that’s the color it re-heally is. I-it’s kinda ni-hice to be a-able to see-hee something in it’s tr-true color for wo-once.”

Stan smiles at his story before opening the back door of Richie’s car to climb in. The drive to Bev’s apartment is filled with idle chatter and meaningless conversation. When Richie pulls up in front of it, Bev helps her cousin get the bike out of the back before waving and heading up to the front door. “I’ll see you… tomorrow,” Stan says to Bill, a giddy grin fighting it’s way to his lips.

“T-tomorrow,” Bill says, his own lips twisting upward. “Bye.” With a wave of his own, he disappears after his cousin.

“Alright, Stanley, get your tiny ass up here,” Richie says, patting thepassenger's seat.

“My ass is not tiny,” Stan responds, taking Bev’s previous spot in the car. “It’s average. And what are we doing?”

“We’re going shopping for your date.”

~ ~ ~

They pull up to the local mall ten minutes later.

“What are we doing here?” Stan asks, feeling only mildly annoyed that Richie was being a stereotypical teenager bringing him to the damn mall after school.

“Listen, Stanny Boy, there’s only one way to say this and it’s not gonna be nice.” Stan makes a face at him to continue as they walk through the front door. “You dress like the world’s most stuck up lawyer.”

“What? I do not!” Stan protests.

“Yes, you do. Every single day this week, have you or have you not worn a button down shirt to school?” Richie asks, guiding them towards the escalators.

“Yeah, but-”

“And what shoes have you worn since the fifth grade?”

Stan rolls his eyes because he knows Richie is right. “Loafers.”

“Loafers! Stan, do you even know what Converse look like?” Richie asks sarcastically.

“Beep-beep, Richie,” he says and then sighs. “Alright, fine. Where are we going? What are we doing?”

“We’re going to go somewhere where the cashier can hook us up. And you’re just gonna get three t-shirts and a new pair of shoes.” Richie has a mischievous smirk on his face and Stan feels the tiniest inklings of worry, but shakes it away quickly. Richie won’t humiliate him too bad, right? They turn a corner and are standing in front of a Hot Topic.

“Are you shitting me?” Stan asks monotonously.

“Never,” Richie says, sauntering into the store. “Hey, babe!”

Stan pokes his head around his best friend’s shoulder and sees Eddie standing at the counter. He looks bored beyond belief, but Stan is more surprised at the fact that Eddie is wearing a beanie. And a fake nose ring.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. “And what’s up with the fake piercing?”

“I, unfortunately, work here,” Eddie replies with a long-suffering tone. But then he flushes. “And the, um, the nose ring isn’t fake.”

Stan feels his eyes bug out and his jaw drop. Richie guffaws at his look and has to hold onto the counter for support. “What does your mom say about it?” Stan asks, ignoring his best friend, who currently can’t breathe.

“She doesn’t know and it’s going to stay that way,” Eddie replies, giving Stan a pointed look.

Stan shoots his hands up into the air in surrender and says, “Don’t worry about me. You should wear it more often. It looks good.”

Eddie smiles, satisfied. “Thanks, Stan. Now, what can I help you and my half-wit soulmate with today?”

Richie immediately stops laughing. “Hey!”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you know it’s true,” Eddie responds with an eye roll.

Stan laughs at the two. “I’m just browsing for shirts.” Eddie nods and jerks his thumb towards the back wall which is full of shirts. Stan is there for maybe ten minutes when he spots a shirt that says ‘I may not be right but I am never wrong,’ looks for his size, and folds it over his arm. _Definitely getting that one_ , he thinks. He browses through a couple more and some of the racks behind him, seeing more than enough band shirts for musicians he’s never heard of and plenty he has. He finds a second shirt. It has a poster on it for the alien band from the fourth Star Wars movie. He feels like a giant nerd but enjoys it anyway. And he finally spies a third shirt that he likes to fill Richie’s quota. It has the Pizza Planet logo from Toy Story on the back and on the left side of the chest.

For shoes, Stan picks out a pair of high-top sneakers printed with little aliens all over them. “What color are these?” he asks Eddie upon placing his stuff on the counter to be rung up.

Eddie places his hand on Richie’s wrist and blinks a few times before removing it. “They’re green.”

“Like grass, but brighter,” Richie supplies.

“Thanks, guys,” Stan says. As Eddie de-tags his shirts, Stan looks around and adds two buttons, one that says ‘food is my favorite food’ and one that has a picture of Simba, Timon, and Pumba with ‘squad goals’ written underneath. He glances around again and his eyes fall on a display towards the front of the store.

The sign advertises color-blocking contacts. Stan picks up one of the little boxes to read the side. According to the manufacturer, these were for people whose soulmates were colorblind and wanted to be on even playing field, so to speak, when holding hands or kissing or hugging. They would block out any colors during skin-on-skin contact. He doesn’t even read the rest of the box, just adds that to his things as well. “How much do I owe you?” Stan asks once Eddie is finished bagging everything.

“Well, I gave you my employee discount from last month, so only thirty-five dollars,” Eddie announces after calculating the bill.

“I’ll take care of twenty-five,” Richie says, digging out his wallet. “Since I was the one who made you come do this.”

“Thanks, Rich,” Stan says, fishing in his pockets for his own wallet and pulling out a ten.

“Pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen,” Eddie says, pushing the cash register drawer shut. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Rich.”

“Bye, Eds,” Richie responds, planting a kiss on his soulmate’s forehead. Stan rolls his eyes at how sickeningly cute his friends are as he grabs his bags off the counter. “Let’s go, I’ll take you home or…?”

“Yeah, take me home. I have homework to do,” Stan says, then waves on his way out of the store. “Bye, Eddie.” Eddie waves back as they round the corner.

When Stan finally gets home, finishes his work, and eats dinner, he’s tired and lays in bed. But no matter how fatigued he is, he can’t seem to get himself to fall asleep. He lays awake, staring at the faded glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling from his childhood and willing himself to sleep. His thoughts run wild about the next night and his stomach is in revolt. He is so very excited yet so very nervous to be going on a date with his soulmate because what if he messes up something? What if he says something that will make Bill angry again? The what-ifs swimming around his mind make him dizzy with nerves.

A notification on his phone breaks through his reverie. Stan turns on his side and reaches for it. The screen reads “Bill Denbrough Text Message.” He unlocks his phone and reads the text, a wave of relief and giddiness coming over him.

i’m _really excited for tomorrow night_

A silly smile comes over his face as he replies: _me too_. He sets the phone down after seeing that Bill read it and has no trouble succumbing to sleep.

~ ~ ~

Stan awakens the same way he fell asleep: with a text message. This one is from Bev.

_before you panic and ask me where he is, bill has speech therapy all day today and won’t be in school love you stanny 🖤_

Stan shakes his head at Bev’s sarcasm and forces himself out of bed. He dresses, choosing to wear a hoodie over the ‘i’m not wrong’ shirt and his new Converse, hoping to really shock Richie. After that, he makes a travel mug full of tea and takes it with him out the door, seeing as his mother and father both leave early on Fridays. He walks to school that morning, hoping the quickly cooling air of the impending fall will clear his head so he can concentrate. He should know it won’t work when he finds himself turning onto Main Street where Bev’s apartment is. Where Bill is staying, he thinks.

Shaking his head at himself this time, Stan turns around, towards the high school, and concentrates on getting to the correct location. When he gets there, he goes to homeroom and sits in his seat. The announcements happen, but he doesn’t know what they are. He goes through the motions of class, unable to focus even the tiniest shred. He gets the rise out of Richie about his clothes that he wants but barely registers it. He misses Bill in physics again and before he knows it, it’s time to walk home.

He feels sort of like he’s on autopilot, just going through the motions of unlocking his front door, going to his room, and preparing to take a shower. When he’s done, there’s finally a bit of a breakthrough in his armor of nerves.

“What will I wear?” Stan ponders aloud. He walks into his closet and flicks through the shirts on his hangers. He ends up pairing a flannel with similar shades to his Pizza Planet shirt and wearing them together. He chooses to leave it unbuttoned, thinking of Richie’s statement from yesterday and pulls on a pair of jeans to go with them. He puts the alien shoes back on, because even though they’re not the most comfortable, he still likes them. When Stan sees the clock on his nightstand reads 4:00, he decides to force himself to do homework.

The repetition of his math homework does wonders to calm his nerves and slow his heart back to normal. That is, until the doorbell rings and suddenly Stan can’t breathe anymore. He realizes that he’s been doing homework for two hours and that it’s time for his date. He grabs his phone off the charger and his wallet out of his backpack before he remembers the contact lenses. He stops in the bathroom before heading downstairs to pop them in. He does it carefully, so as not to accidentally drop a lens in the sink. In the mirror, he sees his eyes look darker and assumes that it’s the contacts at work. He readjusts his yarmulke and rushes down the stairs to the front door, hand poised on the handle to open it. He pauses for a moment, feeling his heart beat irregularly, then makes himself open it.

On his front porch stands Bill. He’s dressed in a dark sweater with two thin stripes spanning the torso and arms and jeans. He looks…

“Amazing,” Stan says aloud. He clears his throat and feels his face heat up. “I mean, you look amazing.”

“Y-you do too, Stan,” Bill says with a gentle smile, his face darkening as well. “Are you re-heady to go?”

Stan nods and steps onto the porch, closing the door behind him. Bill hadn’t moved, so when he turns around, their faces are mere centimeters away from each other. “Sorry,” Stan says, backing up. “My bad.”

“No w-worries.” Bill leads them down the front steps and runs around the side of his pick-up truck to open the passenger door. “After yo-hou.” Stan thanks him and climbs into the truck, marveling at how clean it is. It is spotless. No dust on the dashboard, no trash on the floor, and no dirt on the windows. Not that Stan thinks Bill is dirty, it’s just that Bill is typically so busy, he can’t possibly have time to clean his car this impeccably. It’s like he wanted Stan to be impressed. He smiles a little at Bill’s extra steps to make him comfortable.

“So what are we doing tonight?” Stan asks as his date gets in the front seat, puts the key in the ignition, and back’s out of the driveway. “Or is it a surprise?”

“I r-remember when I was li-hittle and came to visit B-Bev, we’d go to the mini golf pl-pl-place downtown on the plus s-six nights. So, I thought why n-not share something I love with you for our f-f-first date?” Bill responds. Stan is too preoccupied with not actually dying on the spot to note the minimal stutter in his explanation.

He reigns his voice in as he says, “That’s really sweet. But what’s plus six night?”

“Oh,” Bill responds, signaling and turning left. “Th-the mini golf place usual ha-as only eighteen holes open, b-but on plus six nights, they open s-s-six extra holes for the same pr-price. It’s mostly going to b-be little kids because th-they love it.”

“Sounds like fun,” Stan says, turning to flash a small grin at Bill who does the same. They fall into a comfortable silence for the rest of the drive. On the way there, they pass the elementary school, the Barrens, and the Kissing Bridge, all of which Stan points out. There are a few couples making out at the bridge to further prove Stan’s point. Bill’s eyes widen and he turns his head comically away so he doesn’t have to look and Stan chuckles.

They arrive in twenty minutes and Bill drives around the parking lot to find a spot. Once they do, Stan gets out of the truck and looks up at the mini-golf course. It’s indoors, thankfully, because it’s getting dark out, and is covered in stripes of different shades of gray. The sign for the building says “A Stroke of Luck” in almost obnoxiously bright lights. Stan rolls his eyes at the pun and Bill laughs at him.

“L-Let’s go in,” Bill says, reaching for his hand and then stopping himself abruptly. For a moment, it’s uncomfortable between them. But then Stan grabs his hand anyway, wanting to see if the contacts work. He blinks a few times and everything comes into a sharper clarity but everything is still grayscale. He is pleasantly surprised as he looks around just to be sure. A smile grows on his face as his eyes drop to Bill’s shocked look.

“I’ll explain later,” Stan says, starting to walk towards the door, Bill in tow. He seems to be a little suspicious but goes along with it for now. They ask the lady at the front desk for two putters and two golf balls and pay before starting at the first hole. Inside, it’s all space themed. The whole place is decorated with spaceships and aliens and stars. Stan finds the whole thing very cheesy but somehow charming at the same time.

As the duo plays, they joke and laugh and make fun of each other’s abysmal putt-putt skills. When they come to the twelfth hole, Stan can’t wrap his mind around how to putt this one, so he lets Bill go first. Amazingly, he gets a hole-in-one even though the hole has numerous blockades, a sharp turn, and a little mouse hole that the ball _has_ to go through. When Stan comes up to putt, he just stares at the little cup in the ground on the other side of the divider.

“Let me sh-show you,” Bill says, sensing Stan’s confusion. “Like this.” Bill wraps his arms around Stan’s body slowly, as if not to spook him away, and grips the tops of his hands against the putter. Stan’s heart is beating so fast that he’s surprised Bill can’t feel it. Bill is instructing him, but he’s not paying attention, too caught up at how close Bill is. Bill’s breath against his neck. Bill’s face near his. _Bill, Bill, Bill, Bill, Bill._

He brings Stan’s arms back a little and putts the ball for him and earning him a hole-in-one as well. This seems to bring Stan back to reality. He’s staring at Bill who is staring right back at him. “Thanks,” he says softly, eyes dropping to Bill’s lips that are so close, too close, to his own.

Bill shakes his head slightly and steps away, the warmth leaving Stan and making him miss it. “Y-y-you’re we-helcome.” Noticing his stutter coming back full force, Stan muses that he had that impact on him.

“We’re almost done, come on!” Stan says, seeing the end of the first eighteen holes and the hallway leading to the next six. When the two finish with everything, they return their putters and tally up their points. Stan wins, but just narrowly and they probably would have tied if Bill hadn’t helped him on the twelfth hole.

When he points out as much, Bill says boastfully, “Y-you’re welcome. I th-th-think I deserve s-some sort of pri-hize.”

“Isn’t losing gracefully to me prize enough?” Stan jokes, bumping shoulders with Bill. He raises an eyebrow at Stan that says, _You’re kidding, right?_ “Actually, I have an idea,” Stan says and holds out his hand. “I’ll drive.”

“D-do you know how t-to dri-ive, Uris?” Bill asks even though he hands over the keys.

“Just because I don’t have my own car doesn’t mean I don’t know how to drive,” Stan says rolling his eyes and hopping into the driver’s seat. The engine begins to rumble as Stan drives them farther away from the side of town they live on. They’re going towards the woods and a clearing that Stan knows better than the back of his own hand. When they pull into the parking lot, he cuts the motor and jumps out, Bill following suit.

“Wh-what’s this?” Bill asks, meeting Stan in front of the car and leaning on the front bumper.

“You shared something you love, so now it’s my turn. My dad would take me here when I was little to do bird watching stuff. It was right here that I saw my first upland sandpiper.” Stan looks out of the corner of his eye to see Bill looking around at the stars in the sky and continues: “I come here when I’m stressed because it’s quiet and I can think more coherently.”

“Look how m-many stars you can see-ee out here without all th-the city smo-hog,” Bill says breathlessly. He looks towards Stan and catches him staring. He turns away suddenly as Bill hops onto the hood of the car and pats the spot next to him. Stan gets up less gracefully but lays down next to Bill and smiles. He reaches delicately for Bill’s hand and intertwines their fingers. The clarity comes back, but there are no colors and Stan thanks anybody who’s listening that Richie dragged him into that Hot Topic. “Wh-why are you d-doing that?”

Bill looks confused, so Stan explains: “I went shopping the other day and found these contact lenses that are supposed to block colors in a soulmate couple where one person is medically colorblind. I didn’t know if they would work until tonight, but they do.”

Stan meets eyes with Bill who looks shocked and maybe a little awed. “Y-you would do-ho th-that for me?”

Stan nods. “I want to hold your hand,” he replies simply. They look at each other for a bit longer until Bill scoots over a little and rests his head on Stan’s shoulder.

“You are s-s-such a sap,” he says, but Stan can tell he’s touched. Stan closes his eyes and puts his head on top of Bill’s. “L-let’s play a ga-ame.”

“Like what?”

“We g-give each other to-hopics and we have t-t-to give our top three a-answers,” Bill explains. “Like I w-would ask favorite food and you would s-s-say…?”

Stan deliberates for a moment before saying, “My mom’s matzah ball soup, french fries, and the blintzes from the Jewish grocery store near my house. They are to die for.”

Bill chuckles. “Al-alright, now it’s your t-turn. Ask me so-homething.”

“What are your favorite things about Derry?”

“Getting to s-see my co-housin more o-often, m-mini golf, and, um-” He pauses for a moment, thinking. Then he looks up at Stan and says, “You.”

“Now who’s the sap?” Stan responds jokingly, but inside he feels like a million butterflies are running rampant in his stomach at the same time a fireworks show is happening. They play a few more rounds, the questions ranging everywhere from ‘worst illnesses you’ve had’ to ‘favorite conspiracy theories’ to ‘weirdest facts you know’. They end up laying there on the hood of Bill’s car for two hours, listening to each other talk and watching the stars.

Bill looks at his watch and says, “Wow, it’s almost 10:15.”

Stan grabs his wrist and brings the watch closer to his face. “Shit. If we don’t leave now, I’m going to miss my curfew.”

So they get in the car and drive back towards the other side of town. Bill drives a little above the speed limit so they get there in twenty minutes flat. When they get to Stan’s house, Bill walks him to the front door. They face each other briefly and smile. “Thanks for taking me out tonight,” Stan says. “I had a really great time.”

“The pl-pleasure is all mi-hine,” Bill says, a dopey grin lining his lips. They stare at each other for a little longer, the porch light casting strange shadows over their faces, until Stan gets up a few seconds on insane courage to put his hands on Bill’s shoulders and plant a sweet kiss on his cheek.

“Goodnight,” he says, going inside his house and closing the door. He leans against it and listens for Bill’s truck to drive away. Stan bites his lip and smiles like an idiot. He forces himself up the stairs and to say goodnight dazedly to his parents in their office. As he lays in bed that night trying to fall asleep, all he can think of is the sudden sharpness that came over Bill’s eyes when he kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> »I promise, promise, promise this story is getting written. I hope to get a good chunk of it done over my Christmas break. Just know that it's happening.  
> »DATE DATE DATE DATE DATE AND A KISS (on the cheek, but a KISS)  
> »Hmmm, I do wonder what Stan meant at the end there with that whole clarity thing. Hmm.  
> »Thanks for reading, lovelies!  
> »Check me out on tumblr (main: hi-hello-hey-there, it/st: stenbrough-lives).


	4. Bill Denbrough Has A Theory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Please don't kill me because I have a new chapter and I'm in the process of writing the last chapter! This has been posted on my tumblr for a while, so if you read it there, it's been edited a little and generally fixed up. This one's a doozy and quite possibly the longest thing I've ever written so please enjoy!

The more Bill thought about it, the more confused he got.

There was a moment he was almost sure hadn’t happened between Stan kissing him - _Stan kissed him!_ \- on the cheek and the rushed goodbye he offered. Briefly, very briefly, Bill thought he had seen the color of Stan’s eyes. _Hazel_ , his mind had supplied in the faintest of whispers, nearly unheard. He had gone home that night confused, yes, but also with a tiny inkling of hope for… maybe something. He didn’t know what yet. Almost a week later, and thinking of this “maybe” has consumed his every waking and sleeping moment.

He is pulled from his reverie by Stan tapping on his knee gently to get his attention. Bill yanks his earbuds out, abruptly cutting off "Tainted Love" mid-chorus. Typically, the two boys are about the same hight, but now since Stan stands on the ground and Bill sits on the brick wall in front of the school, Stan has to look up to make eye contact. He drapes his arms over Bill’s lap and places his chin on them. “Penny for your thoughts?” Bill’s hand immediately goes to card his fingers through Stan’s curls and Stan leans into the touch.

“It’s n-nothing important,” Bill replies. When Stan gives him a look, he tacks on: “No, seriousl-l-ly! Just a little worried about the ph-physics test today.”

“Don’t be.” Stan pokes his leg for emphasis. “Plus, Dr. Luca is giving us the formulas and you’ve got until ninth period to get your shit together.” This makes Bill laugh a little, though it does not put him at ease. He is not actually worried about the physics test; sitting next to Stan in class works wonders on his understanding of the material. He couldn’t banish the thought of colors from his head all morning. Not after the rest of the losers show up, not after his first-period gym class, not after math with Bev. It isn’t until lunch that he’s able to occupy his thoughts with something else.

By some miracle of God or a work of fate or perhaps, more accurately, the devil’s interception, all of the Lucky Seven have lunch together. Bill almost feels bad for the poor teachers who moderate the cafeteria during Lunch C, but he has too good of a time to really care. Today, the room is all abuzz with excitement for the upcoming festivities. He can't block out all of the chatter as he takes the vacant seat by Stan and slings an arm around his shoulders.

“Are you guys excited for Spirit Week?” Mike asks, dropping into the seat next to Ben after placing his tray on the table. Richie immediately lunges for a french fry and earns a light smack on the back of his hand from Mike in return.

“Yeah,” Bev says, absently pushing her unfinished fries towards the trashmouth so he can eat them. “I have all my outfits planned, so if you guys need help, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Bill raises his hand, having had a question for the last week since he got the school email, but also having been too embarrassed to ask: “Wh-what is spi-hirit week?”

It’s like he’s in a bad comedy movie. Bev looks at him like she doesn’t quite believe him. Richie stops bringing the slice of pizza he was eating to his mouth to stare at Bill. Eddie and Ben share an incredulous look. Mike chokes on his water. Stan, after laughing a little at their friends, decides to have mercy on him. He turns to Bill, leaving Bill’s arm around his shoulders, and explains. “You went to a private school before, right?” he asks. Bill only nods. “Well, here in the hellscape of public school, you have to be bribed into having school spirit.”

“Yeah,” Eddie jumps in, also deciding to pity Bill’s ignorance. “Once every year, the student council picks a theme and an activity for every day of one week to get everyone pumped for the homecoming game and dance on that Friday.”

Bill nods again and responds. “O-okay, I think I get it. What’s go-hoing on next week, th-th-then? I didn’t really re-retain any infor-for-formation from the email.”

“Monday is decades day,” Richie answers, “and my personal favorite. Juniors dress up like the 80s. Then in the afternoon, the jocks and anyone willing to make a fool of themselves play tug-of-war and knock out in the gym. That means you, Billy Boy.”

Mike sighs, but agrees: “Yeah, each sports team and some school clubs always put up a few players or members to play and since you’re our first string wide receiver, you’re pretty much guaranteed the first spot.”

Bill feels himself nod again, not really against the idea when Ben starts talking. “And Tuesday is _my_ favorite: Star Wars Day.” He spreads his hands in front of him to punctuate the announcement. The others smile wryly at his childlike excitement. “We either dress up as a character or wear merch and all day long we have trivia. Not just about Star Wars, about a little bit of everything.”

“Which I signed us up for as a team,” Eddie fills in, sending a pointed look at his soulmate.

“What?” Richie exclaims as he throws his hands up in surrender.

“I did this last you year and you fucking got high in the bathroom and we had to forfeit!” Nobody defies Eddie, Bill has noticed, despite his short stature. He has a commanding voice and a loud one at that. A sophomore passing their table stops momentarily before carrying on, eyes widening comically, making Bill chuckle silently.

“Okay,” Stan says, with a shake of his head. The losers club thankfully finishes explaining the rest of spirit week without fighting too much.

“I think I understand,” Bill says right as the bell rings. Students all around him rush to pack their bags and head to their seventh period classes.

Stan stands, places another delicate kiss on Bill’s cheek when no one else is looking, and says, “See you in physics” before slinging his backpack over his shoulder and heading to his Spanish class with Richie and Ben.

Bill’s fingers drift to the spot where Stan’s lips just were and linger there as Bev snaps in front of his face, beckoning him to follow her to French. She threads her arm through his and asks, “You really like him, don’t you?” Bill can only nod as he feels the heat rise to his cheekbones. “Oh, Billy, you poor helpless little gay.” She rubs his arm in mock comfort.

“Oh, shut up. First of all, I’m a little pan. And you’re also a little gay.” Bill rolls his eyes at his cousin as she greats the French teacher, Monsieur Augustin, and follows suit.

It is in the midst of this class and the rest of his afternoon classes that colors return to his thoughts. All the way up to and through his physics test, all he can think of is the possibility of finally being able to see colors. He didn’t know why he was putting so much faith in this bogus theory he had come up with, but one thing was for certain.

He was going to find out, damn it.

~ ~ ~

Stan had an idea and he wasn’t entirely certain why he was going to go through with it. But it’s too late to back down now, he thinks as he walks up the front steps to the large brick house. He takes a deep breath and knocks on the front door, hoping a little that nobody will be home.

A teenager with an undercut answers the door and smiles. “Hey, Stan.”

The hope in his chest dies. But he smiles back and lifts a timid hand to wave at Mike’s soulmate. “Hi, Mack. Can I come in? I was hoping to ask you a favor.”

“Yeah, sure.” Mack steps back and lets him in. “What’s up?” They sit down on the couch in the living room to the left of the entry hall and when Stan rounds the corner, he sees that Mike is there too.

“Oh, hey, Mike. I didn’t see your truck,” Stan says, going to hug his friend.

Mike returns the hug before replying, “Yeah, it’s in the shop, so Mack picked me up. Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, but what are you doing here?”

It takes a moment for Stan to fully register Mike’s words and another moment to process them and come up with a response. He takes a deep breath before spitting it out, “So, you know how Bill is my soulmate?” Mike nods, a confused look on his face. “I wanted to, um…” The rest of his words get lost in a mumble.

“What was that?” Mack asks, a teasing smile on their lips reads that they definitely heard Stan, they just want to hear him say it again.

“I want to sing for him at the talent show!” Stan bites out frustratedly. Mack lets out a low chuckle and Mike hits them across their bicep to shut them up, but there’s a thin smile on Mike’s face too. “You know what, never mind. I’ll just go.”

“Wait, wait,” Mack follows Stan to the door, grabbing hold of his wrist to stop him from going. “I’m sorry I teased you. Come to the piano. I’m guessing you want me to teach you how to play whatever song you picked?” Stan nods, looking at his feet. “Then, come on!” Mack guides Stan towards the wooden baby grand in their living room and plops Stan down on the bench. Mike watches on amusedly from the couch as Mack pulls up a chair to teach.

The two spend at least three hours learning, playing, replaying, adjusting, and finally perfecting the most simple way Stan can play the song he chose. Then, on top of that, Mack had to get him comfortable with singing at the same time and not fucking up the notes he was playing. Stan can hear Mike shuffling in the background to snap a few pictures and maybe even take a video but chooses to ignore his friend so that Mack doesn’t have to deal with him for any longer than they have to.

After a final play through without anyone’s help, Mack and Mike whistle and clap for him, making Stan’s cheeks burn. “That was fantastic!”

A smile settles itself on Stan’s face without him meaning it to. “I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you, Mack. Thank you so much.”

“You are quite welcome. How about this,” Mack continues, “you play through one more time and then you can tell me all about this soulmate of your’s while I make dinner, hmm?”

This time, the flush crept all the way up to his ears before the laughing started.

~ ~ ~

Monday came quicker than anyone would have expected and Stan walks through the doors with Richie as always. Richie has managed to put together an outfit consisting of ill-fitting, baggy jeans, a band t-shirt, and a godawful Hawaiian shirt. Stan can’t help but think that if he could see the colors on his friend, they would clash and make everyone a little sick.

Stan, however, took a little more subdued route and put on what his dad called “khaki” shorts and a simple, short-sleeved button down. His mother informed him to unroll his socks and wear plain flat shoes. Stan knows that the looks are being drawn to the pair are mostly focused on Richie, but it makes him uncomfortable nonetheless. They meet up with Eddie and Bev outside of the office, studying the papers taped to the windows about the teams for tug-of-war.

“Wowza!” Richie catcalls as he grabs Eddie around the waist and pulls him into a hug. Eddie’s laughing even though he would normally be annoyed. “Look at you, rocking the short shorts. Totally tubular.”

Immediately, the smile falls from Eddie’s face and he’s pushing out of Richie’s arms. “Please never ever, _ever_ say that again.”

Richie, however, is undeterred. “You love it. It’s what makes you so chuckalicious!” The only response that he receives is a smack upside the head. “Ow!”

“That was so much worse than anything you said up until now. I fucking hate you,” Eddie protests, turning away from his soulmate. “Hate.”

“Wow, okay,” Stan says, turning away, suddenly very interested in _literally_ anything else. “Bev, you look nice.”

She’s wearing a pair of overalls over a short sleeve shirt with combat boots and a couple of layered chains. “Thank you. So do you." She raises to her tiptoes to look around. "Have you seen Bill?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing. He does live with you.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, smart ass.”

“He’s probably doing stuff with the football team,” Richie offers, arms back around Eddie, seemingly against his will as Eddie is holding them there with a vice grip.

Eddie nods toward the end of the hall. “Speak of the devil.” Stan turns just in time to see Bill and Mike coming toward them, laughing with their teammates about one thing or another. Stan can’t help the goofy grin the comes over his face. He feels an elbow to the ribs but ignores the faces Bev is making at him. Bill catches his eye and waves, excusing himself from the football team and dragging Mike with him. Bill is wearing a simple dark flannel with shorts and the same unrolled socks as Stan.

“Hi,” he whispers, throwing an arm over Stan’s shoulders. “You look great.”

Stan rolls his eyes but feels his cheeks heat up regardless, snaking an arm around Bill’s waist. “Yeah, right.” He adds as an afterthought: “Thanks.”

“Hey, lovebirds. Pay the fuck attention!” Richie brings them back to Earth, pulling them into the conversation that Ben had appeared into. “Eddie Spaghetti, please continue.”

Eddie huffs out an exasperated breath and begins speaking again. “Remember, tomorrow is trivia day, so after you check into homeroom, we meet in the gym. Got it?”

“Ay ay, captain,” Mike says, mock saluting him.

Eddie chuckles lowly, playing along, “At ease, you little shit.”

After that, the day practically flies by. All classes have been shortened to accommodate for the afternoon’s activities which is a blessing in disguise. Even if physics is shortened, Bill gets to leave early since he's participating and Stan gets left alone. Once the final bell rings, there is a mad rush to the gym, so Stan gathers his belongings and tries not to get caught in the undertow. He heads towards the junior section, immediately spotting his friends because of Richie’s loud mouth.

“All bets are final! Come collect your money from me and Ben, here, after the tournament. Now, scram!” Richie plops back down in his seat, bending over a notebook filled with names and bets on Ben’s lap, other students returning to their seats.

“Minors can’t gamble, dumbass. It’s illegal,” Stan can’t help but point out as he takes a seat beside Eddie, even though he has no real problem with it.

“I haven’t been caught, have I?” Richie snarks. Stan just shrugs his shoulders, yielding this argument to him.

The student council president, Holly, interrupts all conversation as she screams into the microphone, “Good afternoon, Derry High!” The students cheer, happy, at least, that classes are over for the day. “And Happy Spirit Week! Today we will have our mini-tournament for tug-of-war!” She riles the crowd up, emphasizing all the important words. “First up, we have the mathletes versus the Latin club!”

As the teams line up, Bev scoots over to the seat in front of Stan, turning to place her elbow on his lap and stare mischievously at him.

“Can I help you?” Stan laughs after allowing her to sit there a few moments.

“So,” she began, Stan’s anxiety spiking briefly. “Mike showed me something interesting this morning.”

Stan feels his heart momentarily stop working. Mike wouldn’t dare. Would he? Behind Bev, the mathletes finally pull the Latin club over the center marker, causing a cheer to go up. It gives him some time to regain his composure before cooly saying, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bev shoots back. “A little picture of someone being taught how to play the piano. Maybe a song?”

Stan sighs deeply before ripping the bandage off: “It’s a surprise for Bill so can you please not tell him about it?” Bev squeals a little but mimics zipping her lips and turns back around with a smile and a nod.

The teams participating file in and out of the gym, Stan’s interest waxing and waning depending on what club or sports team is on the floor at the moment. He calls out a cheer for Eddie, not as loud as Richie does, when the drama club comes to take their places and somehow miraculously beat the swim team. He hears Ben lean over to Richie and ask, “Were they singing Les Mis?” They all just shrug in response and go back to watching the tournament.

He shouts even louder for Bill and Mike when the football team finally comes out: “Go number 27!” Stan screams, cupping his hands around his mouth. Bill looks his way, hair catching the fluorescent lighting just right, and smiles dazzlingly. Stan is breathless for a moment before he smiles back and waves like a lovestruck idiot.

“Three, two, one!” the principal announces. The football team seems caught off guard when the Spanish club starts to pull with all their might immediately after the principal is done speaking. Stan hears them shout at one another to get it moving. It takes longer than any of the other preliminary matches, but eventually, the football team comes out as the winner. The crowds go wild.

It continues on and on, according to Stan, and is only fun to watch when his friends are competing. Sooner rather than later, drama club gets knocked out by the boys’ soccer team. The members of the losers club in the stands are rather relieved; they didn’t want to have to choose sides if Bill and Mike ended up against Eddie. He joins them not long after to cheer for their friends.

Finally, they are at the semi-finals: football team versus boys’ soccer and fencing team versus the Italian club. The Italian team loses with decorum and a few choice words Stan believes are curses followed closely thereafter by the boys’ soccer team. Now, the football team faces off against the fencing team.

“This kid bet so much money and everything he’s bet on has happened,” Ben announces, utterly flabbergasted. “We’re going to end up paying him out of our own pockets at this rate.” He scans up and down the list of bets, double and triple checking. The principal once again starts off the competition with a countdown. The football team pulls hard once and catches the fencing team’s lead person off guard, tripping him in the process. As a result, everyone skids towards the football team’s side. They put on an extra burst of strength and give a final pull before pulling the flag over the middle line.

“The football team wins!” The principal gestures towards the group of football players huddling around each other and jumping in celebration. As soon as the final competitors leave the gym floor, climbing back into the stands, the rope is put away and the girls’ and boys’ basketball teams roll out the carts full of basketballs for a game of knockout. A few students and teachers go to play when Bill and Mike find their way back to the losers club. Students who made bets and won come back to collect their winnings, a tiny boy with dark hair named Danny receiving the largest chunk of the money.

“Congrats, I guess,” Ben says, handing over the folded bills.

Stan laughs but turns back to Bill who sits beside him. “Good job, babe.”

Bill chokes on the water he had been given. “B-babe? Are we at nicknames now?”

Stan flushes up his neck. “Oh, my god. I’m so sorry. That just slipped out.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Stan sees Bill scratch the back of his neck and his face darken. “No, it’s- it’s okay.” There is a slight pause. “Sweetheart.”

“Fuck off,” Stan says with a laugh, nudging Bill with his shoulder. He entwines their fingers together as they watch a girl on crutches make a basket from the sidelines.

~ ~ ~

Tuesday starts out rough. Stan sleeps through his alarm, takes forever finding his favorite Star Wars shirt, almost drops his color-blocking contacts in the sink, and, on top of all that, doesn’t have enough time to get breakfast before Richie comes to pick him up dressed as Jar Jar Binks. He’s irritable all the way to school, his tea doing little to wake him up. He doesn’t want to face his friends like this: angry, tired, and hungry. Richie has seen him in worse states, so he knows better than to ask if Stan is okay.

They show up ten minutes before the warning bell and Richie disappears to his locker while Stan rushes to the cafeteria to buy a muffin. He checks into homeroom and tells Mr. Westinghouse he’s in the trivia bowl. Stan is still a little comatose as he crosses the quad to get to the gym and almost gets hit by a late student pulling into the parking lot.

Eddie, dressed as Han Solo, is already there with Richie and Ben who’s sporting a nerdy t-shirt and Star Wars lanyards for miles, telling them the strategies he ran past Stan last night. Mike, Bill, and Bev are nowhere to be seen. Stan sits in the stands with the assembled members of his team.

“Howdy, partner,” Ben tiredly says, raising his own steaming travel mug in greeting. Stan simply raises his eyebrows in acknowledgment. A few minutes later, Bill and Bev, aptly dressed as Luke and Leia, sprint into the gym, a box of donuts in each of their hands.

“I thought we could use some sustenance,” Bev says in lieu of a ‘good morning.’ “Sorry we’re late.”

“Not late yet, my friends,” Mike’s low voice interrupts, dressed as Finn and showing off a bag of clementines from his family’s farm. “We have fifteen minutes until the other students show up.”

“Alright,” Eddie begins. “Now that we’re all here, I just want to say good luck and have fun. Don’t get inside your head too much, okay? I know I can be a hardass about preparing for this, but I really want to win this year. Alright? I love you guys.”

They all pile in for a hug before Mrs. Reagan, an ancient English teacher who taught Stan’s dad, speaks into the microphone set up on the makeshift stage. “Good morning, students. If your captains would please come to the front to pick your team numbers.” Eddie rushes to the other side of the gym to pick a number.

“M-morning, sweetheart,” Bill says, stirring Stan from his reverie by dropping a delicate kiss on his head. A small smile forms on Stan’s lips, unable to be sad in Bill’s presence.

He grabs Bill’s hand almost immediately after he sits down and leans on his shoulder. “Hey, Skywalker.” His voice is soft, both because he’s trying to wake himself up enough to be useful during the competition, but also because Bill makes him like that.

“T-t-tired?” Bill rubs soothing circles on the back of Stan’s hand, almost lulling him back to sleep.

“Yeah,” Stan whispers, eyes drooping sleepily. “I had a lot of Calc to work on last night and Eddie wanted help with the best way to break up who answers what problems and then my mom wanted me to help her press flowers. It was a weird night.” Bill chuckles as Eddie returns brandishing a scrap of paper with “7” written on it.

“It’s like the universe was looking out for us,” Richie comments with a wink in Stan’s direction, causing him to snort.

“Okay, here’s the plan: me and Ben are on history, Richie is in charge of pop culture, Stan and Bev are going to take math and science, Bill and Mike have sports. Bev and Bill are also going to take any questions about art. But don’t feel like you have to answer only those kinds of questions. If you have the answers, feel free to jump in. Sound good?” Everyone nods. “Great.”

A lot of the day was waiting. Waiting for the team’s turn to compete. Waiting for the results of the first few rounds. Waiting for Stan’s brain to _fucking load properly_. All four of the questions he’d answered so far were wrong. Nobody blamed him, but he still felt bad for letting the team down. The others reassured him that he wasn’t, but even Bill’s hugs weren’t enough to make him feel better. Even if he was doing a shitty job of handling his area of questions, the team somehow made it to the last round. It was kind of exhilarating. Eddie was frantically regrouping, making the most of the thirty-minute break all the teams got to drink some water and eat a clementine, encouraging his teammates to do the same.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, Stan the Man,” Richie says, appearing at Stan’s side with the offering of a donut and a Capri Sun he swiped from one of the other teams. “I know you’re a little nervous about tomorrow, but don’t let that cloud your intellect. You’ve got this, okay?” The reassurances are a little strange coming from someone dressed as Jar Jar fucking Binks, but Stan smiles and nods a little, accepting the snacks and unwrapping the straw. Richie taps a finger to his forehead none too delicately. “Now, enough with this mushy shit. Getcha head in the game!”

Stan snorts and rolls his eyes. “Okay, Troy. You’re such an idiot.” A pause. “Thanks, Rich.”

“Don’t mention it,” Richie comments, a smile appearing on his face as he punches Stan’s shoulder lightly.

“Would teams seven, twenty-three, and forty come to their tables? The final round is about to begin,” Mrs. Reagan calls.

Stan takes a deep shaky breath, clenching his fists, and marches towards the front of the room. Dr. Younger asks the first question and the round gets going. The last round is the longest and the losers are doing pretty well, a slim gap between them and the team in first place. Stan is careful not to answer the questions he isn't sure about… which is all of them.

As the last question is being asked, Stan catches Bev’s eye and she gives him a thumbs up to say ‘you got this.’

“The final question will deal with soulmate culture.” Stan freezes. He knows nothing about this! Not one damn thing! He groans internally but forces himself to smile at Bev to show that he’s ‘a-okay.’ “In 2012, contact lenses were made for people whose soulmates have medical colorblindness that effectively blocks all colors so they could do things like hold hands and hug without the color-seeing soulmate seeing color. What is the name of the manufacturers of these contact lenses?” Stan can’t believe his luck. He slams down on his buzzer before he can really think about it. “Team 7, your answer?”

He reads the name every morning before school: “ColorViz.”

“That is correct. Congratulations, Team 7, you have won the trivia bowl.”

Stan really can’t believe it, not as his friends hug him, not as the principal hands him the small trophy, not when his picture is taken, not even when Bill plants a kiss on him, a little closer to his mouth than normal.

“Whoa,” Bill whispers under his breath, all humor falling from his face.

“What?” Stan finally comes out of his winning-induced haze, worried immediately because Bill is staring at him like he’s grown two heads. “What’s wrong?”

Bill’s eyebrows raise. “N-nothing. N-n-nothing is wro-ho-hong.” Stan doesn’t believe him because his stuttering is suddenly a lot worse than normal, but lets it go because Eddie is saying something about taking them out for dinner.

“I can’t believe we won!” he shouts on the way out the doors.

Richie laughs the laugh reserved for his soulmate. “Me, either, Eds.” He looks back at Stan and winks again. “Me either.”

~ ~ ~

_Soulmates, from the Latin_ anima mate _, are thought to have existed even around the same time mankind came into existence. We have always had the innate ability to recognize the person (or people) who are most compatible with our own chemical signature. The reason remains undetermined as to how soulmates came to be. Many believe that when the universe was created, the atoms of soulmates were near each other and later became people in the grand scheme of evolution. Others believe it was a gift bestowed upon us by their higher powers and give soulmates a place of honor in their religions. Still others believe that soulmates have come about due to a genetic mutation. In recent decades, research on soulmates has gotten significantly more in-depth, however, there are still abnormalities unaccounted for._

_One such abnormality is the lack of a soulmate. Some people never find their soulmates in their lifetime. Although it is not proven that the person simply never met the person who would be their soulmate, many soulmate scientists theorize that some of those people don’t have a soulmate at all. Other rare aspects of soulmates include incredible age gaps between soulmates, why a person can never see color again after their soulmate(s) die(s), and colorblindness._

_Some people have been diagnosed with medical colorblindness, defined as “affected with_ partial _or total inability to distinguish one or more chromatic colors.” Another theory proposed by scientists is that when one person in a soulmate pair is medically colorblind, it can be remedied with-_

“Bill!” Bev shouts. She leans towards him, hands pressed into the library table, eyes wide with expectation. “What are you so engrossed in you can’t hear me call your name six times?”

After his heart starts beating regularly again, Bill gives her an incredulous look. “I hardly be-believe that y-hou called me si-si-six times.”

“You wanna bet?” Bev crosses her arms, glancing down at the watch on her wrist in the process. “Doesn’t matter. We have to go. The talent show starts in five minutes.”

Bill checks his watch and sees that he’s spent his whole seventh period study hall researching his “bogus theory” instead of his paper for history. When he left a kiss too close to Stan's mouth yesterday, the incident afterward wouldn't leave his mind and so he kept researching. “Oh, sh-sh-shit.” He closes the book he was reading and rushes to put it back on the shelf before Bev can read the title. He would only be so lucky.

“‘A Theory of Soulmates’?” Bev says mischievously. “What’s that for?”

“No-none of your da-hamn business.” Bill wills the flush creeping up his cheeks to calm down before it reaches his ears. The cousins leave the library and Bill mostly hopes Bev won’t push why he was reading a basic philosophy book on soulmates. So far, so good. They walk silently towards the auditorium, the room spilling noise into the hallway even before Bill can see the doors. They soon find their friends towards the middle of the center section where Juniors sit. However, Bill also notices that they are one person short.

He scoots into the aisle next to Mike and leans in to whisper as the lights go down, “Whe-where’s Stan?” All he gets is a shush as the room is plunged into complete darkness. A single spotlight lights the stage as the curtains open and the Italian teacher walks on with a microphone.

“Hello, Derry High!” A round of applause goes up, while Bill scans the crowd for his soulmate -a thrill runs through him at the thought- but he can’t see anything. “I’m going to keep introductions short and sweet. I’m Signorina DiAngelo and I’ll be your MC for the afternoon. Let’s kick things off right away and get started, yeah? Let’s hear it for our first performer!” Another cheer goes up as Signorina DiAngelo exists stage right and the people on run crew push the school’s donated grand piano and a mic stand center stage.

And Bill’s heart stops completely at the last person he expects walks on stage.

Stan is going to sing.

He takes his seat at the piano and plinks out a few notes as a test before adjusting the microphone and jumping right into the song’s intro. Bill can distantly recognize the melody, but it isn’t until Stan starts to sing the words that he realizes what it is.

_“I’ve been hearing symphonies, before all I heard was silence._   
_A rhapsody for you and me and every melody is timeless._   
_Life was stringing me along, then you came and you cut me loose._   
_Was solo singing on my own. Now I can’t find the key without you._   
_And now your song is on repeat and I’m dancing on to your heartbeat._   
_And when you’re gone, I feel incomplete, so if you want the truth:_   
_I just want to be part of your symphony. Will you hold me tight and not let go?_   
_Symphony, like a love song on the radio. Will you hold me tight and not let go?”_

Bill is totally enraptured with Stan’s voice. He can’t seem to blink or tear his eyes away. He thinks briefly that maybe he should record this so he can listen to it forever, but then he would have to look at his phone and that would mean not looking at Stan and that’s just not going to happen right now. He hears Eddie snicker from his right but can’t be bothered to do anything about it. Stan looks so carefree and confident behind the piano that it’s like he was made to be there. When the song ends, Bill is the first to rise from his seat for a standing ovation. Stan smiles brightly and walks off stage, the tech people already scrambling to set up for the next act.

The rest of the talent show is a blur and Stan doesn’t show up in the audience for any of it. Bill is beginning to get a little restless, but he makes himself wait until the last person is done doing their dance routine to bolt out of his seat and into the hallway to greet Stan. As more students flood out of the auditorium, Bill finds himself on tiptoe searching for the familiar head of curly hair. When he finally spots it, he has to restrain himself from just melting on the spot.

“Stan!” he calls out, waving an arm in the air. Stan turns away from the people congratulating him, locking eyes with Bill. His smile widens, if that’s even possible, and excuses himself from the group that had gathered around him. Stan nearly runs, narrowly avoiding causing an accident in the hall, to throw himself at Bill. Bill takes a few steps forward and braces for impact. Stan launches himself into Bill’s open arms for a hug and they spin a full rotation before Stan’s toes brush the floor and he’s standing on his own. “You were so good.” Bill’s words come out muffled since he’s buried his face in Stan’s shoulder. “So good, I c-can’t even descri-hibe it.”

Stan laughs, his breath ghosting over Bill’s skin. Bill feels the hairs on his neck stand on end. “Thank you. So you liked it? Because it was for you.” They pull apart to look each other in the eye.

“Liked i-it? I lo-hoved it, Stan.” Bill can’t take it anymore, he leans forward and connects his lips with Stan’s. The response is immediate: Stan throws his arms around Bill’s neck and reciprocates the same affection Bill was putting in. Bill understand now why all great love stories film kisses spinning around the couple because he can’t feel the ground. A cozy warmth settles in his stomach spreading out to his fingers and toes. They separate before they can receive a demerit from one of the teachers milling around.

Bill’s eyes flutter open slowly, but once they’re fully open, his heart jumps up into his throat, his breath catches, and his eyes immediately fill with tears.

“What? What’s wrong?” Stan’s hands find their way to Bill’s face and his gaze is filled with concern as Bill’s eyes flit here and there, taking in everything all at once. His finally looks back at his soulmate’s face and he smiles a watery smile.

“No-hothing is wrong,” Bill whispers. “Just- a-all the colors are beautiful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> »Thank you once again for putting up with my bullshit and waiting for new chapters. I see all the lovely comments and kudos come in through my email and it puts a smile on my face every time. Thank you!!  
> »HOLY SHIT AN ACTUAL KISS SLAP MY ASS AND CALL ME MARTHA  
> »Bro, next chapter is going to be so fucking crazy you won't even know what hit you.  
> »Love you guys! Thanks again for reading!  
> »Check me out on tumblr (main: hi-hello-hey-there, it/st: stenbrough-lives).
> 
> -B


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